


A Bittersweet Goodbye

by snarkwhal



Category: The Grisha Trilogy - Leigh Bardugo
Genre: Alternate Ending, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, F/M, I nearly cried writing this, Reincarnation, Ruin and Rising alternate ending, dont judge me, is that wierd, part of this was inspired by a song from an anime
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-14
Updated: 2018-01-14
Packaged: 2019-03-04 14:15:14
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,227
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13366434
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/snarkwhal/pseuds/snarkwhal
Summary: An alternate ending to Ruin and Rising that's almost as sad, if not just as sad, as the original.





	A Bittersweet Goodbye

**Author's Note:**

> For more feels, I suggest listening to a piano cover of Again from Your Lie in April. 
> 
> As always, feel free to tell me what you think in the comments :D

“Alina,” the Darkling breathed.

I stumbled forward just as my legs gave way and I crumpled beside him. I was dimly aware of everything unfolding around us. The volcra were shrieking in panic, the nichevo’ya were fleeing, and Nikolai was darting for a growing blue sky. Though above it all, the only thing that registered clearly was the sight of the Darkling’s weakening body and my own dissipating strength.

“Alina,” he repeated and reached for my hand.

With what little energy I had, I took his in my own. I wasn’t surprised to find him just as cold as I was, but the drops falling on our skin caught me off guard. I was crying.

He reached up and brushed my wet cheek, the smallest smile touching his bloody lips before his hand fell under its own weight, “Someone to mourn me.”

I nodded without thinking, coughing and choking out another sob. There would be plenty to mourn a saint, but him? Who would mourn him? His mother was dead, and if it was only me, then that too would be gone soon enough.

“No grave,” he gasped and tried holding me tighter,”for them to desecrate,”

“A-Alright,” I sputtered as the tears came harder and my breathing became ragged, “there will be nothing left.”

I struggled to keep my eyes open and saw his begin to droop as he shuddered.

“Once more,” he said, his voice raw, “speak my name once more.”

In that moment, we were no longer the Sun Summoner and the Darkling. He was not the Black Heretic, and I was not queen of the sun. He was just a boy, brilliant and blessed with too much power. I was just a girl, once blessed with power like him. Both of us burdened by what was and what could have been an eternity.

I tried lifting myself higher so he could hear me better, but I only swayed a bit before falling again, our foreheads touching now, “Aleksander.”

“Don’t let me be alone,” his quarts grey eyes looked at me with something akin to adoration before they shut for good, “Alina, my Alina.”

I squeezed his hand one last time and cupped his face with the other. He was gone. If I had anything else left in me I would have screamed. I could only cry, and even that was difficult. The only thing I felt was the gust of wind that blew my hair, accompanied by what sounded like a great sigh.

“A-Aleksander. Aleksander.” I said again and again till my voice gave up.

Rolling onto the sand next to him, I felt my grip on his hand loossening as I looked up. The sky was almost completely blue now, a few black wisps lingering here and there. Nikolai was bent over and on the ground, Zoya and Harshaw helping him up as the darkness left him just as fast. They were making their way toward me, followed by Nadia, Adrick, Tamar, and Tolya. All of them were calling my name, I was sure of it, but everything sounded so faint. I didn’t know when they reached me.

Turning my head slightly, I glanced at Aleksander for the last time. One thing came to mind before I finally closed my eyes as well.

We were alike as no one else was, and as no one else would ever be again.

***

In the days following the destruction of the Fold, news of the Darkling and Sankta Alina’s death had spread as fast as the black landscape had disappeared. Soldiers and new summoners retold the story of her martyrdom, her great sacrifice, as they reunited with friends and family. The people of West and East Ravka met once again, celebrating their long awaited unity and mourning those who gave their lives for it. The faithful sang their praise each day and with every sunrise, and cried for their lost queen with every sunset. Many spoke of how she had woken the country from a nightmare, but very little mentioned the reason for it, the very man who haunted them then and even now.

Few people actually knew about the events immediately following the last battle. Some said that the world’s two most powerful grisha were torn apart for amplifiers. Others said that they were burned to avoid such use. There were even those who argued that upon killing one another, upon the disappearance of their power, the two had simply vanished. A few thought that the pair may have been buried side by side, laid to rest together. The only ones who truly knew were the remains of a once indestructible army and an equally broken king.

In the decades following, Ravka slowly rebuilt itself. Centuries under the mercy of the Shadow Fold, enemies at every border, and the recent civil war had brought it to a point lower than anything ever seen before. But falling any further was impossible, and with its new innovation and leadership the country was born again. With a clever fox at the wheel and a magical trio at his side, Ravka transformed from a back water kingdom to a mighty empire, sailing into a golden age.

***

Centuries later, another age had ended. Two armies had become one, and new technology had taken the second half from their place near royalty. The Little Palace was less of a home, and now more of a museum with once bright kefta on display. Though their abilities were not what they had been long ago and were no longer as saught after, many were glad to live without the division and persecution that their kind faced in the past. The age of grisha power had come to an end, but plenty of grisha were glad to be just Ravkans at last.

And on a bench in Os Alta, a girl mulled over what it had taken to reach such peace.

Taking a sip of tea from her cup, she continued flipping through the pictures in her history book. A map of a Ravka torn apart by darkness. Monsters made of shadows with wings and claws. A woman wielding sunlight in her hands. They were all foreign, yet familiar.

The girl knew the familiarity merely came with the time she had spent studying the drawings, but she couldn’t fully grasp why she was so fascinated in the first place. It was a world so close to her, what with the grisha still existing, and yet it was so far removed by its cruelty and strange beauty. Was it the power or the people that had drawn her in?

As the wind blew and she batted her brown hair away, the girl thought that she may never find the answer and that her nagging feeling would never cease. That was until she looked up at the surrounding street and her gaze fell on the person in front of her. 

It was a particularly bright fall day and the girl had to squint when she lifted her sunglasses. As her eyes adjusted, she found herself blinking at inquisitive grey ones, something clicking in the back of her mind. She and the boy continued staring at each other, and it was like part of her was calling to him and him to her. It was as if they were alike in some tiny and unique way. 


End file.
